


You Silly Face, You Silly Face

by Myx



Series: Trainers AU [1]
Category: John Finnemore's Souvenir Programme
Genre: Alternate Universe, Clothing Kink, Fluff, M/M, Singing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2019-03-02 03:13:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13309236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Myx/pseuds/Myx
Summary: An AU in which Trainers don't know each other by their jobs. The Driver is still a train driver, but the Manager is a performer who mostly does variety shows, and his stage name is Manager.This AU (and fic, to be honest) is heavily, heavily inspired by the Gnu York, Gnu York song from the first episode of the seventh series of JFSP.





	You Silly Face, You Silly Face

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing.

"Oi, Driver, you got a second?" Greg, the engineer, asked, making his way to the front of the train. 

"Sure, Greg, what is it? I was just about ready to head home." The Train Driver asked, as he was doing his end of the trip checks before leaving for the day.

"Would you be interested in this ticket for _Transportation_ , this variety show that I was going to go to tonight?"

"Oh. You're not going anymore?"

"Afraid not; Skye is sick." Greg stared at the phone in his hand and sighed. "Just got a call from Kristie-Skye isn't feeling well, so we decided to skip the variety show this evening. I already gave Kristie's ticket away, so I just have to get rid of mine."

"Oh, I'm sorry, Greg." 

"Its okay; there will be other shows, I guess. Its just that this one just seemed like it was going to be really special."

"How so?"

"Well, there's this performer who never typically performs at small venues, and they were going to be there at this performance tonight." Greg whined and slumped his shoulders in a defeated manner. 

"Sure; I'll go and I'll report back about this mysterious anti small venue performer."

"Cracking. Ta, Driver." Greg cracked a small smile as he handed the Driver the ticket. "Enjoy yourself, yeah?"

* * *

A few hours later, the Driver found himself sitting at a small rounded, red table with a little candle in the centre of it five rows from the stage inside a cozy, but quite posh theatre called The Core. The Driver had heard of The Core, as there was often upscale events held here, like black tie dinner parties and murder mystery dinners, but this was his first time at the venue. As the show's start time got closer and closer, more and more people started coming in and the Driver was quite curious. He had been to other variety shows before around town, but they had never been sold out before.  _Course_ ,  _none of those variety shows have been here in this venue, and have had a performer who doesn't usually do small venues._ With only a few minutes to curtain left, he bought a glass of red wine from the bar, and went back to his seat, eagerly waiting the start of the show that was, apparently, about transportation, if the show's title had any sort of foreshadowing to what would happen in the show. 

The Driver was quite impressed with the variety show; there was a good balance of stand up performers, storytellers, and two person sketch teams. The first hour and a half of the almost two hour show flew by, as did the intermission. As it were, the show was certainly about transportation as each person (or group)'s set was about something related to their embarrassing stories about transportation, their gripes about it, or their observations while on certain types of transportation. The Driver had really enjoyed one particular stand up performer who had previously been a flight attendant for British Airways, as they had some quite interesting stories to tell. 

The act the Driver was watching, a two person sketch team doing various sketches about the history of automobiles, concluded. There was a blackout after they were done, as per usual, but unlike all of the other blackouts throughout the course of this show, this one was different. A ten piece orchestra of some sort, as the Driver couldn't identify what instruments made up this orchestra, was assembling themselves in almost total darkness with almost no noise what-so-ever, other than the occasional hushed voice and the gentle thud of a chair and a music stand being placed into its proper position towards the back of the stage. The Driver's interest piqued.  _This_ ,  _this must be the setup for that performer._ When the lights came back up, the Driver was able to take in the total scene. The brass orchestra were all wearing very smart and well fitted formal dress. He noted that the trumpet players took it one step further by having a small, black ribbon in between the second and third valve just as if they were making their trumpets more formal. The principal trumpet stood up from where she was seated and played a hauntingly beautiful low C. As one, the other nine members joined in, playing their respective notes that all matched the trumpet's low C. The Driver shivered as his arms were covered in goose flesh. He hadn't been expecting that as a reaction to a chorus of brass instruments playing one note, but here he was, experiencing that very same thing. He was eager about what was to come.

The brass orchestra stopped and the principal trumpet bowed and took her seat. A tall, lanky man walked out onto the stage. He had on a top hat that fit the shape of his head perfectly, coattails that accented his waist and hips, and he carried a small black cane. He froze in the middle of the stage with one hand holding the brim of his top hat, while the other hand, held the cane. He wore a sly smile that almost matched the almost devious cocked eyebrow. A wireless, silver headset microphone that was waiting to catch whatever this man was presumably about ready to sing shown brightly underneath the warm stage lights.The brass orchestra came to life and started playing a catchy, familiar, brassy number. The Driver smiled to himself, _Sinatra's New York, New York; haven't heard this one in a while._

 

 

> You're taking the train,
> 
> You're going away.

The Driver felt himself blush. Was this man _really_ singing about a train? 

 

 

> Leave your worries at the station,
> 
> You silly face.

The Driver was blushing even more ( _What am I? A lovestruck teenager?)_ at this point and the song had just begun. He had no idea how he would last through the rest of the song.

 

 

> You're been wanting to do this, so go play,
> 
> And go on your grand vacation
> 
> You silly face.

The Driver felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand straight up when this man made eye contact with him. The Driver wasn't able to make out the colour of his eyes, but they were calm and peaceful; like a warm bath after a stressful day. 

 

 

> Pull out your ticket now, you're ready to board the train,
> 
> With Snake on your phone you will be entertained.

The Driver was beyond captivated. This man, whomever he was, had an incredible stage presence.  He owned that stage, made deliberate movements, and had an impressive amount of tonality associated with his voice. It was, in a way, almost like he was playing homage to Sinatra himself. This man's voice was in its own right, a musical masterpiece; it was simply divine, rich, and powerful. The Driver longed to know what else this man could do with his voice.

 

 

> The train manager will be around soon,
> 
> He'll be asking for your ticket,
> 
> You silly face.

Admittedly, the Driver wished this man would be asking for something else from him besides his ticket. As much as he truly didn't want to admit it, this man was gorgeous; his cheek bones were prominent and accented his facial hair. His body moved elegantly across the stage as he did a small tap routine as he was singing. As the Driver watched this man move across the stage, he had a desire to memorize every single way that this man was demonstrating his ability to move. 

 

 

> And maybe, if you're lucky you might just get,
> 
> His phone number,
> 
> You silly face. 

At the conclusion of his song, the audience thundered with applause. The brass orchestra stood up, bowed by themselves, as the man clapped for them. Then, the man bowed, and wished everyone a good night before leaving the stage, and  _wait, did he just wink at me?!_

The Driver was shocked. Frozen to his chair. As people around him were starting to leave, as that was the conclusion of the show, he was trying to processed what the hell had just happened. He ran to the loo, and stared at himself in the mirror. A quite frankly shocked and semi-scared man with beads of sweat dotted his forehead stared back at him with wide, hazel eyes. He splashed cold water on his face, dried off his face, and asked one of the ushers at the theatre where the stage door was located. With his heart pounding and his body screaming at him to go home and sleep, as it was starting to get late, he made his way to the stage door, and waited.  _I cannot believe I'm going to do this; but I simply cannot let this opportunity go. I need to buy Greg that new blender he keeps on banging on about if this works out._

A few moments later, the door opened. Other performers were leaving, chatting about this and that, when the Driver saw whom he was looking for; the man. He had taken off the coattails, and had the top hat and cane in his left hand. He smiled when he saw the Driver.

"Well, hello there." The man said, pulling the Driver aside so they weren't close to the stage door. 

"Uh, hi?" The Driver said, in a small, shy voice.  _Oh Lord, he's wearing suspenders._ _And he's a ginger. And he's so pretty-_

"I couldn't help but notice that you seemed quite captivated in my performance, sir." The man winked at him.

"H-how did you g-gather that?"

The man chuckled. "Well, for starters, you're stuttering, your cheeks are about as red as a bloody firetruck, and when I winked at you, I thought you were going to fall over."

"I almost did, actually." The Driver said in a small voice.

"That's actually really cute." The man's cheeks flushed a bit, heading towards but not quite the same shade of red as his hair. "So, what's your name, then?"

"I go by Driver."

"Driver?"

"Yeah, Driver. I'm a train driver."

"Oh, brilliant; I bet you liked the song I sang, didn't you?"

The Driver clicked his tongue, daring to be bold. "I believe I fully demonstrated that just now with my stuttering and my firetruck red cheeks. "What is your name?"

"Manager."

"Wait. Manager!? Like the same manager that you referred to in your song?"

"Well, I guess that is a happy coincidence, isn't it?" The Manger's eyes sparkled with mischief. "But, that said, yes, that's my stage name. I typically don't do small venues, but I wanted to do something a bit different since I'm wanting to be a comedic singer-songwriter instead of just singing covers or original songs that others write for me. So, tonight was special because that is the first time that I sang that song in front of an audience as I wanted to see how people would react to that song that I wrote." He paused for a moment, smiled, and then continued in a purr, "I certainly got the reaction I was looking for, Driver."  

The Driver laughed. "You could certainly say that, Manager."

The Manager got closer to the Driver, and put his hand on the Driver's shoulder. "Yeah. Look, would you want to get out of here and go grab a pint with me? My treat. I would love to talk to you more, Mr. Train Driver." The Manager said with a warm smile that could melt even the hardest ice cream.

"Oh, that would be lovely." The Driver started blushing again. 

"You know what, Driver?" The Manager asked as they were getting into the Manager's BMW.

"What?"

"I think you might just get my phone number."

"Really?" The Driver cracked a smile.

"Yes, really, Driver." He placed a hand on top of the Driver's knee. "Among other things, you silly face."

**Author's Note:**

> If you would like to listen to New York, New York the way it was originally written, you can listen to it right here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x_srVEAP-WM. 
> 
> While I created the parody that the Manager sings, I obviously own no rights to the original song.


End file.
